“I’m glad you explained.” Smiling, Francesca reached for him, but he held her off.
“There’s more,” he said. “And this will probably be harder to hear.”
“Do we have to go into it now?” she asked. “Can’t it wait until…until we’re stronger?”
“No. It wouldn’t be fair to put this off. You need to know because—” he shoved a hand through his hair “—because it’ll be big, especially for you, and it won’t change.”
Drawing her knees up to her chest, Francesca nibbled on her bottom lip. “Okay…then I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
“The daughter I had with Adriana…”
Instinctively tightening her clasp on her knees, Francesca drew a nervous breath. “What about her?”
“I don’t exactly have a relationship with her. Not yet. Her adoptive parents don’t allow me much, just a few pictures here and there. But, financially, at least, she’s part of my life. She’ll always be part of my life. And when she turns eighteen and is able to choose for herself, I’m hoping she’ll want to know me.”
Francesca wasn’t sure how to respond. She felt proud of Jonah for caring about his child, for hanging on when it would’ve been so much easier to walk away. She also felt selfishly angry. She shouldn’t have to deal with this. She hadn’t caused the problem, and yet, if she stayed with Jonah, it would affect her life, too. His daughter was nine years old. Eighteen wasn’t that far away.
He lowered his voice. “I can’t turn my back on her, Fran,” he said. “Not even for you. Because it would be denying who I am. I’m the reason she’s here in this world. I should take responsibility for her, give her all I can.”
Francesca waved for him to stop talking. “You don’t have to explain. I get what you’re saying, but…”
“You can’t live with it?” He sounded afraid her answer might be yes.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I honestly don’t know.”
The old-fashioned alarm clock her father had given her as a child ticked loudly in the silence. She’d had that clock for so long. It reminded her of the steadiness of her family, the fear they’d feel for her if they learned she was getting involved with Jonah again.
“Right,” he said at length. “I won’t push you. Just…tell me what you decide, okay?”
She rested her chin on her knees. “Do you think love is enough?” she asked. “Do you think it can conquer even this?”
“That’s what I’m waiting to find out. Come here.” He coaxed her to him but didn’t attempt to kiss her or touch her intimately. Spooning her as they settled down to sleep, he whispered one more time that he was sorry, and she believed him. It wasn’t his contrition she doubted. It was her ability to handle what the future might hold. Could she live with a constant reminder of Jonah’s betrayal, one that came in the form of another completely innocent person she didn’t even have the right to resent? Someone who deserved as much of his love and support as she did?
She told herself to let the dilemma go, for the moment, that she’d figure it out in the morning. But sleep wouldn’t come. One minute slipped into the next and still she worried about how she’d deal with a situation that included not only Adriana but Adriana and Jonah’s child. Would there be a day when she’d blame Jonah for the fact that she couldn’t handle it? Or was her heart big enough to accept a daughter whose conception had caused her more pain than she’d ever experienced before?
“It’s your father.”
Groggy from lack of sleep, Francesca struggled to reclaim her faculties. Jonah had gotten up earlier. When he left her bed, she’d almost stopped him. She’d wanted to continue to snuggle against his warmth, to sleep in his arms, but with so much undecided between them, she’d refrained. She didn’t know where he’d gone—to make calls, read the paper, go on the computer—but he was back, freshly showered and handsome as ever, standing over her with her cell phone.
When she belatedly grasped what he’d said, she scrambled into a sitting position and whipped out her hand. “You didn’t answer it, did you?”
Jonah scowled. Obviously, he realized that she didn’t want her father to know they were seeing each other. “I didn’t need to. His name’s on your screen.”
Francesca would’ve explained that they had to deal with her family carefully, that it might take time for the Morettis to forgive him as she had. But what was the point of explaining, or speaking to her parents about him, until she was sure they had a chance of making it? There was no time for explanations, anyway. She didn’t want to miss her father’s call. He’d given her a lot of valuable information before. She hoped he’d have more this time around, something that would convince her Finch had put the right man behind bars.
Pushing her sleep-tangled hair out of her face, she ignored Jonah’s “thanks for treating me like your dirty little secret” reaction and hit the answer-call button. “Hello?”
“There you are,” her father said. “After that many rings, I expected voice mail.”
“No, I’m here. Sorry for the delay. I got in late last night and—and overslept this morning.”
“What’s going on?”
“They arrested Dean Wheeler.” He didn’t know Dean had come after her, that the police had searched the salvage yard, that they’d found blood. But he knew Dean’s old girlfriend had gone missing.
“A few days ago, I would’ve applauded that move,” he said.
“And now?”
“Now that I’ve done more research, I feel it was unlikely Bianca Andersen ever knew Dean.”
Because of Jonah’s gaze on her br**sts, she became conscious of her nudity and pulled up the blankets. She wanted him as much as ever, but…she was trying not to let that be the deciding factor in her future. “How do you explain that she worked at the mental hospital where he was committed on three different occasions?” she asked her father.
“She didn’t start at that hospital until almost a month after he was released the second time. And she was on vacation when he was admitted the third.”
“The entire two weeks?”
“The entire two weeks. She always arranged her vacation schedule to be off in December.”